


in the hours between dawns

by mhurm123



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe Major Character Death, Batfamily (DCU), Batman Bingo, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, I’m not gonna say who died but you can probably take a stab in the dark and figure it out, There are no explicit details about the death, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhurm123/pseuds/mhurm123
Summary: Tim trailed off as he watched a new figure step into the room. At first he figured it was Bruce or Alfred and he was planning to beg for help he probably wouldn’t receive, but then his eyes widened when he realized who it was. Dick was standing right in front of him, hands shoved into his pockets with feigned nonchalance. He gave Tim an awkward smile as the teen was left blinking, his brain taking far longer than it should’ve to fully process the situation.Or: A Dick from an alternate universe shows up. Their worlds aren't that similar, but some things hit a little closer to home than what Tim is comfortable with.(Filling the 'Multiversal Travel' slot on my batman bingo 2020 card)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884187
Comments: 5
Kudos: 243





	in the hours between dawns

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Talk of suicide
> 
> Title is from A Litany for Survival by Audre Lorde

Tim, for all it’s worth, was utterly _exhausted_. Not the kind of exhausted that he could brush off with some caffeine and a dismissive hand wave whenever someone tried to guide him to bed. No, this was the kind of exhaustion that made his bones ache, that left him feeling like being stabbed repeatedly with the dullest knife in the world would be a better option than ever feeling this tired again. He trudged through the Manor, socked feet shuffling about as he grabbed himself a water bottle. 

He’ll blame it on this exhaustion that he didn’t notice Dick barreling into him until his body jerked backward and he nearly lost his footing. The hug knocked the breath out of him, and the overwhelming feeling of _tired_ was making it notably difficult for him to get his lungs working again. Well, that and the fact that Dick was squeezing the life out of him. Quite literally. 

“Dick…” He managed to groan out, patting desperately at his brother’s back as if he were tapping out of a wrestling match. “I was only gone for three days. You act like that mission lasted months.”

Tim had been out for half a week on an extended mission with the Titans. It wasn’t anything huge, just a cartel that required a little more attention to take down fully, but it hadn’t even been that serious. He’d come back with a few scrapes and bruises, nothing notably serious. His report was quite dull if he was completely honest, so he didn’t understand why Dick was acting so _clingy._

  
Dick, seriously, you can…” Tim trailed off as he watched a new figure step into the room. At first he figured it was Bruce or Alfred and he was planning to beg for help he probably wouldn’t receive, but then his eyes widened when he realized who it was. Dick was standing right in front of him, hands shoved into his pockets with feigned nonchalance. He gave Tim an awkward smile as the teen was left blinking, his brain taking far longer than it should’ve to fully process the situation. 

The man hugging him was flat on his stomach two seconds later, arm trapped behind his back as Tim dug his knee into the guy's spine, putting his full weight on the one area. The short burst of adrenaline only did so much to steady his mind as he looked up at his brother from his spot on the attacker. “Why aren’t you helping?”

Instead of responding to Tim, he spoke to the man on the ground. “I told you, you should’ve let me explain first.”

Yeah, yeah.” Tim felt the man's chest move with laughter as he turned his head to show Tim his profile. “Mind letting me go, little wing?”

Tim blinked at the Dick underneath him, then glanced back up to his version of his brother. Tim might’ve been a little slow on the uptake, but he wasn’t _completely_ braindead. “Alternate universe,” he sighed as he pulled himself off Richard (what he would be calling this other Dick until he was gone) and held a hand out to help the man off the floor. 

“Yep,” they both spoke at the same time as Richard pulled himself up. Tim just groaned in response, turning back towards the staircase. 

“I’m going to sleep for the recommended eight hours. Hopefully. Or maybe three years. Who knows? I’ll decide once I’ve laid down. Don’t wake me up unless the world’s burning.”

“What about an alien invasion?” Dick questioned.

”Or another alternate version of me showing up?” Richard tacked on and Tim turned to glare at his brother(s?). 

“World. Burning. That’s it.” He wasn’t sure which version snorted at the retort, but Tim was already too far away to figure it out. 

* * *

A blissful four hours later, Tim trudged downstairs with his laptop in hand. He made a beeline for the kitchen, only slowing his advance when he reached his destination, noticing Richard seated at the island. (He didn’t like the fact that there were only a few visual cues that let him know it wasn’t his Dick. This version’s hair was a bit longer; that was the biggest tell of them all.) Richard was writing something out in a notebook, the only sound in the room being the fridge and his pencil scratching against the paper. He didn’t look up until Tim set his laptop on the island and headed for the coffee maker. 

“You always loved the coffee Alfred bought,” he mentioned off-handedly, and Tim glanced over as he started the pot. “He never told you where he got it.”

So, going off the way Richard was using the past tense, something must’ve happened to his version of Alfred. Tim couldn’t say he was exactly shocked, even though the idea of Alfred being gone wasn’t a thought he really wanted to entertain. He realized the man was older, and he was lucky enough as it was that nothing had happened to him. 

“Have you guys started figuring out how to get you home?” Tim questioned instead of responding to the earlier comment. He paid no mind as Richard watched him like a hawk as if the mug he was grabbing from the cabinet was going to shatter and send a shard directly to Tim’s heart somehow. 

“Yeah. Bruce is working on it right now.” He placed his pencil down in the middle of his notebook, leaning forward onto his crossed arms. “I’m surprised you’re not down there with him.”

Tim gave a single shouldered shrug as he watched the pot slowly fill. “I had a mission, didn’t sleep for a few days. B wouldn’t let me help even if I wanted to.” Bruce had been more adamant about Tim taking care of himself since he’d found out about Tim’s spleen after an unfortunate dip in the bay. That pneumonia was _not_ fun. 

Richard nodded and cleared his throat. Tim wished he knew what was going through the man’s head. He seemed hesitant, staring at Tim while his back was turned, but refusing to meet his gaze when they were facing each other. He shifted in his seat like any moment the world would implode. Tim would comment on how he needed to work on his body language if it weren’t for the fact that Tim knew Dick didn’t really care. Dick had always been relatively open, even after everything that happened. They’d both put up a guard after Bruce went missing. Hell, _everyone_ in the family did. None of them had been the same after that, but Dick remained the most open of the bunch.

“I’m glad.” He sent Tim a grim smile. “You always overworked yourself.”

There he went again, using the past tense. But this time, he wasn’t talking about Alfred. No, he was talking about his version of _Tim_.

He wouldn’t lie and say the words didn’t send a chill up his spine. 

“What happened?” Tim questioned before he could stop himself. Maybe he was just reading into things. Maybe it was just a slip-up, or maybe his alternate self had finally figured out an actual schedule. Maybe he no longer had a caffeine addiction. Maybe… but Dick’s smile faltered, and Tim knew he was hoping for too much. Richard’s version of him didn’t get a happy ending. 

“I don’t know if I should tell you.” 

Oh _boy_. This was bad, then. 

Tim turned and poured himself a cup of coffee as he responded. “You’re from an alternate timeline, not the future. Talking about it shouldn’t have any effect on either of our universes.” He moved back towards the island, taking the seat across from Richard. He set his mug in front of him, keeping one hand wrapped about the side. It was almost uncomfortably warm, but Tim paid it no mind as he put all his attention on the man across from him. 

“That’s not why I don’t want to tell you.” Richard picked up the pencil and flipped the notebook shut in a manner that was _way_ too nonchalant for him to be doing anything other than hiding his writing from Tim’s view. 

“Look,” he began, motioning with his free hand as he spoke. “I know the dangers of our night job, okay? I understand the risks that come with it, and I’m prepared to--”

“You didn’t die in the field.” 

Well. Shit. 

Richard was adamantly looking anywhere _but_ Tim. He looked like he’d eaten a lemon-- the same face his Dick made whenever he was trying to hold back an onslaught of emotions.

“Dick,” Tim sighed, the words coming out firm. “What happened?”

Richard finally met his eyes, and Tim suddenly wished his mug was filled with something much harder than just a caffeine boost. He was going to need it if the grimace on Richard’s face was any indicator. 

“It’s a long story,” he said as a last-ditch attempt to deter Tim from asking. 

“I have time.” That was a half-lie. Tim needed to work on paperwork for WE that had been put back due to his mission. But, hey, it had already waited three days. What were a few more hours?

Richard pushed the notebook away from himself before standing up, the stool screeching horribly against the floor. He flinched at the sound before moving mechanically towards the cabinets, pulling down his favorite mug (A black cat with a chip in the handle). “Bruce died in my universe,” he started hesitantly, pouring himself a cup.

“He technically did here, too.” Richard’s head snapped over, one eyebrow raised in question. Bruce was downstairs, after all, working on getting Richard back to the correct universe. “He was lost in time. I got him back.”

Tim wished he could explain the stricken look that came over the elder’s face. Sorrow, understanding, questioning… it looked almost like he went through all five stages of grief in the span of three seconds. He gently placed the pot back in its place, his movements slow as he sat back down. He swirled the contents of his mug even though he hadn’t put anything in it. (That’s another difference, Tim noticed. Dick always took his coffee with three creamers and too many sugar packets to be socially acceptable.) 

“Well, our Bruce wasn’t lost in time. He was _actually_ dead.”

Tim downed half his mug in one sip. He _really_ wished this had something much harder in it. Vodka would be nice right now. 

“I tried to help you. I tried to show you proof…”

Tim _really_ didn’t like where this was going. Sure, he and Dick had made up _months_ ago, but neither of them had exactly been seeking out a conversation about that time in their lives. They’d both been hurt by what transpired, and while they might’ve been able to forgive, neither of them were really in the position quite yet to _forget_. 

“I made Damian Robin. I tried to explain, to tell you that we were equals and that I’d help you find a new identity, but you didn’t want anything to do with me after that. You were dead set on finding Bruce, and you left before I could do anything to try to help. You were-- You just _disappeared_ , Timmy. I had no idea where to start looking.”

Tim pursed his lips. “So, obviously I didn’t find Bruce in your universe.”

Richard shook his head. “You tried. You were so adamant that he was alive. Even when I managed to track you down, you wouldn’t come home. You’d-- you looked so bad. That search, all those dead ends-- it was _killing_ you. You were falling apart, and I didn’t know how to help.” Richard’s voice broke at the end as he stared into his mug of coffee like it would give him some kind of answer. What question was he asking? Tim wasn’t sure. 

“Yeah,” he sighed instead. “It was a hard time for me.” He hated that he had a strong feeling he knew where this story was going. Bruce was dead, actually _dead_ , and this alternate version of him still thought there was proof he was alive. He still went on that trip, and something happened while that Tim was gone. If their worlds were as similar as Richard was making them out to be, Tim had a fairly good idea of what was going through his head at that time. None of it was pretty. 

“After we ran into each other the once, we lost touch again.” Richard put his mug to his lips, practically draining it as he stalled to finish the story. 

Tim didn’t push him.

Of course, while Tim had been in the thick of things, he didn’t stop to think about how his remaining family would react to _another_ death. Hell, even when he _did_ think about it, he didn’t believe they’d care. Bruce was ‘dead’, Jason was on a killing spree, Dick had stolen the only stable thing in his life from right under his feet, and Damian was... well, Damian was Damian. Cass was the only one who ever made him think twice, and even then, he was so far down the rabbit hole half the time that he didn’t even care if she’d miss him. He just wanted the pain to stop, whether he finished the mission or not. Of course, he’d be a lot happier if he was able to get Bruce back in the process, but everyone thought he was crazy with grief, so did it _really_ matter?

Now, though, he knew. He was aware of how catastrophic his death would be for everyone, whether he’d lost his mind or not. Dick would never forgive himself, Cass would be overcome with grief, even Damian would be angry (mostly on Dick’s behalf, but Tim was reasonably confident that the gremlin would miss him too). If Bruce was back when Tim died, he’d be the worst off. What, with just finding out his second son was back, then realizing his third had gone and offed himself because the only purpose in life was to get his guardian back, and now that he _was_ back, Tim’s life had lost all meaning? Yeah, B wouldn’t be doing too great. 

Tim realized now that he was home, now that his family was right there in front of him. He realized he was loved. But back then? He couldn’t see it, and he didn’t even care to look. 

"I got a notification on the batcomputer with coordinates.” Richard pulled Tim out of his thought process. “Apparently, you’d set up your suit to let me know when your vitals dropped too low. I don’t know why, since you were so mad at me, but I didn’t even care. By the time I got there--” Richard leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his face. “By the time I got there, you were gone. You couldn’t take it anymore, and I was tasked with planning another funeral.”

Tim winced, gripping his mug a little too tightly, the liquid rippling with the movement. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words coming out before he could put any thought into them. He wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for since there wasn’t anything _he_ could’ve done to stop his alternate self from choosing that path, but he realized that he meant it. Maybe he was sorry for ever having those thoughts in the first place? He didn’t know. 

Richard just nodded, hardly processing the words. He ran his fingers over the calluses on his hands as he spoke, “Can you just make me a promise?”

Tim tilted his head. “You know I don’t make promises without knowing what I’m agreeing to.”

Richard gave him a tight, bittersweet smile like he knew the response was coming, but he didn’t want to hear it. “Please just-- please don’t do that. It would break him.” He knew Richard was talking about Tim’s version. He also knew the words ‘like it broke me’ were left unsaid.

“I promise,” Tim spoke softly. “I’ve already been there,” he admitted, and Richard looked at him with steely eyes. He seemed ready to throw his life down for a version of Tim he didn’t even know, and Tim hated that he’d done that. He never wanted that for his brother. “I’m better now. I got Bruce back, and I came home. Dick and I made up. It was rough, and I still struggle sometimes, but… I haven’t outwardly thought of it as an option for a few months.”

Richard seemed to slump in relief, giving Tim a moment to look at the man properly. He couldn’t be much older than his Dick, but the dark circles under his eyes added quite a few years to his appearance. His spine was straight after years of perfecting his posture, but his shoulders sagged forward as if the weight of the world had been placed upon him. Tim figured it basically _had._

“He’s here for you,” Richard spoke, soft yet firm. “He’ll listen. You just have to give him the chance.”

Tim gave him a small smile, his eyes unfocusing for a moment as he looked down at his coffee. “I know.” He didn’t use to, but he did now. He knew that Dick wanted what was best for him, even if his idea of that was misguided at times. 

Silence washed over the pair, and Tim figured the conversation was over. He polished off his drink before grabbing another. Finally, he opened his laptop, mechanically typing his password. A few minutes later, Richard opened his notebook again and picked up where he’d left off. 

Neither of them said anything after that. 

* * *

Tim glanced up when he heard footsteps heading down the stairs to the cave, still typing as he watched Dick approach. Richard had gone back to his world a few hours prior, and the day had continued as normal. Or as normal as it gets for their family. 

“Hey,” he greeted, eyes locking back on the report he was writing. They all had to give details on the whole Richard situation, so Tim was writing out the SparkNotes version of the conversation they’d had the day before. 

“Heya,” Dick responded, and Tim immediately glanced back. His voice was shaky, and he was wearing that sour lemon look like Richard had the previous day. “You got a second?”

Tim hit the period button, finishing the sentence he’d been typing before turning the chair to face his brother. “What’s up?”

Dick shoved his hands in his pockets-- the epitome of feigned nonchalance-- and leaned back against the console to the computer. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Tim groaned and turned back to the screen. “He told you, didn’t he?” Dick pulled a few folded up pieces of paper out of his back pocket, which Tim quickly identified as the note Richard had been writing. Tim sighed, rubbing at his forehead.

“He said you said you’d been there before-- that you’d _thought_ about it, and I just wanted to make sure because-- you know I’m here, right, Timmy? You’ve always known that.”

Tim could feel a headache already beginning to blossom behind his eyes. “I know. I’m not gonna do anything; you don’t have to worry about me.” Tim turned to look at Dick halfway through his response, showing his brother that he meant it. He didn’t want to die anymore. Or, at least, the thought didn’t haunt him nearly as much as it used to. He wasn’t perfect, there were still bad days where he wanted to fall asleep and just never wake up, but he was doing better. 

Dick searched Tim’s face for a moment and seemed to come to a conclusion he was okay with because he leaned back and his easy smile took over his face. “I always worry about you.”

Tim rolled his eyes and started tying again. “Yeah, yeah ya’ big sap. I need to finish this report.”

Dick ruffled Tim’s hair before he turned away. Tim’s typing stuttered for a second as he patted his hair back into place, making Dick laugh. The sound echoed through the cave, and Tim realized in that moment that he wanted to hear that laughter for many years to come. 


End file.
